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MILWAUKEE — The game plan, manager Dave Roberts said Tuesday afternoon, was simple.

As the Dodgers prepared to face Milwaukee Brewers phenom Jacob Misiorowski, a hard-throwing and supremely talented right-hander making just his fifth career MLB start, the club’s manager repeated one key multiple times during his pregame address with reporters:

“Stress him as much as we can.”

Given Misiorowski’s inexperience, the idea was to work long at-bats, drive up his pitch count and “be mindful of [making] quick outs,” Roberts said.

The Brewers’ Jacob Misiorowski shouts during the sixth inning of a game against the Dodgers Tuesday in Milwaukee.

(Aaron Gash / Associated Press)

“If he’s got to keep repeating pitches, there might be a way for some base hits, some walks,” he added. “Again, create stress, and hopefully get a couple big hits.”

A big hit came early, with Shohei Ohtani leading off the game with his 31st home run of the season. But after that, the only stress evident at American Family Field on Tuesday came from the Dodgers’ lineup, which struck out 12 times against Misiorowski during a 3-1 loss to the Brewers. It was the Dodgers’ fifth straight loss.

The Ks came quickly following Ohtani’s early blast (his ninth leadoff home run of the season, and one that set a new Dodgers record for total home runs before the All-Star break).

Mookie Betts fanned on a slider in the next at-bat. Freddie Freeman whiffed on a curveball after him. Andy Pages froze on a 100.8 mph fastball, one of 21 triple-digit pitches Misiorowski uncorked from his wiry 6-foot-7, 197-pound frame.

Misiorowski struck out three more batters in the second to strand a two-out Dalton Rushing single. He worked around Miguel Rojas’ leadoff double in the third with two more punchouts, getting Ohtani with a curveball this time and Freeman with the same pitch after a generous strike call got the count full.

From there, the Dodgers didn’t stress Misorowski again until the sixth, when Ohtani drew a leadoff walk and Betts slapped a single through the infield. With one out, however, Ohtani was thrown at the plate trying to score from third on Pages’ chopper up the line. Then Michael Conforto grounded out to first to retire the side, sending Misorowski skipping back to the dugout with a few thumps of his chest at the end of a six-inning, one-run start that saw all 12 strikeouts come the first five frames (tying the most strikeouts by any MLB pitcher in the first five innings of a game since 2008).

Opposite Misiorowski, Dodgers veteran Clayton Kershaw produced a solid six-inning, two-run start in a vastly different way. With his fastball still topping out at 90 mph, and the 37-year-old managing only three strikeouts in his first start since joining the 3,000 club last week, Kershaw instead navigated the Brewers with a string of soft contact.

The only problem: The Brewers still found a way to build a rally in the bottom of the fourth.

After singling on a swinging bunt up the third-base line his first time up, Milwaukee catcher William Contreras did the same thing to lead off the inning. Then Jackson Chourio beat the shift on a ground ball the other way.

That set up Andrew Vaughn for a line-drive RBI single to center, tying the score. In the next at-bat, Isaac Collins also found a hole in the infield, sneaking another ground-ball single between Betts and Rojas on the left side of the infield to give Milwaukee a 2-1 lead.

Even after Misiorowski departed, a shorthanded Dodgers lineup (which was once again without injured veterans Teoscar Hernández and Tommy Edman, as well as primary catcher Will Smith on a scheduled off day) couldn’t claw its way back.

The Brewers’ bullpen retired all nine batters it faced. Sal Frelick took Kirby Yates deep for an insurance run in the eighth. And on a day the Dodgers intended to create stress, they were instead dealing with the headache of a season-long five-game losing streak.

For so long, the biggest question surrounding Shohei Ohtani’s future as a pitcher was simple.

When, after a second career Tommy John surgery, would he finally get back on the mound? When, after a year and a half of exclusively hitting, would he be able to resume two-way duties?

This past week, that answer finally arrived.

Twice in seven days, Ohtani climbed the bump as the Dodgers’ starter, throwing one inning in each outing in his long-awaited return to pitching.

Both times, he left his teammates and coaches in astonished amazement, giving them their first up-close glimpse of his dual-role skillset.

“I’ve seen [him throw] bullpens and lives and simulated games, or whatever,” manager Dave Roberts said Sunday. “But to kind of watch it in real time, to go from the mound to the on-deck circle and then go to the batter’s box, it’s pretty remarkable. And he’s just handling it the right way. He’s just unflappable.”

What comes next, however, remains shrouded in some uncertainty.

Now that Ohtani is again pitching in live-game action, new questions are lingering about where his build-up will go from here.

“It’s going to be a gradual process,” Ohtani said through interpreter Will Ireton on Sunday. “I want to see improvements with the quality of the pitches that I’m throwing, and then also increasing the amount of pitches. So it’s going to be gradual.”

It was no surprise that, in Ohtani’s return to pitching on June 16, he was limited to only one inning. It was a trade-off he and the team made to get him back into a real game sooner, agreeing to give him a live start even if they knew it wouldn’t extend past one frame.

Entering Ohtani’s second start on Sunday afternoon, however, the thinking was that the right-hander could be ready to push into the second — that, to eventually get stretched out for full-length starts, he would begin building up his workload by adding another inning each time out.

The way Ohtani pitched Sunday certainly warranted a second frame.

After giving up two hits and one run over a 28-pitch outing against the San Diego Padres six days prior, he collected two strikeouts in a scoreless 18-pitch frame against the Washington Nationals, his only baserunner reaching on a dropped pop fly by shortstop Mookie Betts.

“Overall, I was able to relax much better compared to my last outing,” Ohtani said. “The way my body moves when I pitch, it’s something that I worked on with the pitching coaches and I felt a lot better this time.”

However, in the top of the second, Ohtani was once again replaced on the rubber. Despite his improved execution and efficiency, it turned out he and the team had made a predetermined decision not to push him for a second inning quite yet.

“That was the original plan,” Ohtani said of being removed after the first.

“Going into today’s game,” Roberts added, “we felt really comfortable with one.”

It hammered home the reality of what lies ahead for Ohtani; the cautious, methodical and, as Roberts also described it, “gradual” pace with which the team will handle his pitching workload for the time being.

“I think that it’s more of just trying to get the foundation, the building blocks as he’s [pitching and] taking at-bats,” Roberts said. “[We are] erring on the side of caution … There’s no sense in rushing it right now.”

As Ohtani returns to pitching, there are new factors the Dodgers will have to monitor in his all-around performance.

Already, the reigning MVP has cut down on his base-stealing while ramping up as a pitcher: After swiping 11 bags in his first 50 games, he hasn’t even attempted a steal since throwing his first live batting practice session on May 25.

His place in the leadoff spot could be altered on days he pitches as well, with Roberts leaving open the possibility of moving him down in the batting order to give him more time to transition from pitcher to hitter (at least in the first inning of home games, when he currently has to hustle from the mound to the plate after the top half of the frame).

Then, there is perhaps the biggest question: Whether the burden of pitching will affect Ohtani’s all-important production with the bat?

That dynamic came under scrutiny this week, after Ohtani went just two-for-19 in the five games following his first pitching start.

“I don’t think that’s a fatigue thing,” Roberts insisted Sunday morning. “But we’ll manage it. I can only take him at his word, and the swing speed and all the stuff we sort of track is still in line.”

Ohtani did snap that slump after his inning on the mound Sunday, finishing the day with a three-run triple in the seventh and two-run home run in the eighth.

“I do feel like I do have to work on some things,” Ohtani said. “But at the same time, I do feel like I can perform better, even better than I used to be able to perform at.”

All of this is to say, while Ohtani has mastered his two-way role before (twice winning American League MVP while doing it with the Angels), the Dodgers are taking nothing for granted about his pitching comeback right now.

Before they begin adding to his pitching workload, they want to make sure they’ve accounted for any unintended side effects.

“All these conversations we have with him, obviously,” Roberts said. “He’s understanding of where he’s at, where we’re at, and appreciating the fact that as time goes on, we’ll get to a certain point.”

Before Sunday’s game, Roberts didn’t even commit to fully stretching out Ohtani like a traditional starter by the second half of the season.

“That’s kind of TBD,” he said when asked when Ohtani might be fully built-up for normal-length starts. “I think we’re always gonna be cautious. So I don’t even know what that’s going to look like, to be ‘fully built-up.’ I don’t think anyone knows what that looks like. Because it’s not a normal starting pitcher. So to say six [innings] and 90 [pitches], I don’t even know if we’ll get to that point.”

Could that mean using Ohtani as only a glorified opener for the rest of this season? Or stretching him out only if a currently shorthanded rotation doesn’t eventually get healthy?

Time will have to tell on those questions, with neither the Dodgers nor Ohtani ready to commit to any answers until they see how he continues to respond to his return to two-way duties.

“As we build more of a foundation, there will be some latitude,” Roberts said. “I think that we’re still gathering [information]. But again, once we ramp up more, it might be a different conversation.”

When you watch “The Matrix” at Cosm, you’re essentially seeing a film within a film. A shot inside an apartment becomes a glimpse into an entire complex. A fight scene on a rooftop is now one small part of a giant cityscape. Look to the left, and a once off-screen helicopter is suddenly entirely visible.

Cosm has won attention and a fan base for its focus on sports programming. A domed, 87-foot-diameter wraparound screen surrounds audiences at the Inglewood venue, creating an illusion of in-the-flesh presence. Can’t make it to that NBA Finals or World Series game? Cosm wants to be your fallback plan, combining front-row-like seats with unexpected views.

And now, Cosm aims to redefine the moviegoing experience. A revival of “The Matrix” opens Thursday in what the company calls “shared reality,” a marketing term that ultimately means newly created CGI animation towers, over, under and around the original 1999 film. Cosm has in the past shown largely short-form original programming, and “The Matrix” marks its first foray into feature-length films.

Carrie-Anne Moss and Keanu Reeves in “The Matrix,” which is opening at Cosm with newly created CGI that surrounds the original frame.

(Cosm )

The hope is to not only see the film with fresh eyes but to create a sensation of being in the same environment as Keanu Reeves’ Neo, Carrie-Anne Moss’ Trinity and Laurence Fishburne’s Morpheus. “The Matrix” is an ideal film for this experiment, its anti-AI message decidedly topical while its themes grapple with dual visions of reality.

There’s been a host of so-called immersive ambitions to alter the moviegoing experience over the decades, be it the on-and-off flirtation with interactive cinema, a brief trend in the ’90s that recently lived again on Netflix (see “Black Mirror: Bandersnatch”), to more recent 4-DX theaters with movement-enabled seats (see the light, water and wind effects of “Twisters”). Cosm, like the bigger, more live music-focused Sphere in Las Vegas, seems to have a different pitch: an all-encompassing screen that can provide previously unexplored vantage points, even at times creating a theme park ride-like sense of movement.

Cosm’s interpretation of “The Matrix,” a collaboration with experiential creative agency Little Cinema, envelopes audiences from its opening action sequence when a nighttime view of a city skyline seemingly places us on a rooftop. Elsewhere, Neo’s office building becomes a maze of cubicles. The film’s centerpiece red pill versus blue pill moment centers the frame among oversized, glowing capsules. When Neo awakens, we are lost amid mountainous, industrial pods.

The challenge: To not make it feel like a gimmick, yet to also know when to pull back and let the film stand for itself. “The No. 1 core principle was to enhance and don’t overshadow,” says Jay Rinsky, founder of Little Cinema. “Metaphorically for us, the movie itself is the lead singer and we are the backing band. Let the movie be the star. Let it sing. And basically follow the key beats — follow the sound design, the emotional moments and enhance the action.”

The red versus blue pill scene in “The Matrix” is framed with newly created animation.

(Cosm)

The accompanying images get more aggressive as the film races toward its climax. The animations are most effective when they’re expanding the screen rather than echoing the action — showing us the viewpoint of a careening helicopter for instance, rather than repeating or mimicking a beat of the film. Having seen “The Matrix” before, I know the story and its cadence, and was perhaps more willing to turn my attention away from the film, which is placed in the center of the screen and often set within a picture frame.

In turn, I was dazzled by the scenes shot inside Morpheus’ hovercraft the Nebuchadnezzar, in which the vessel’s surroundings — its buzzing, electrical core and its assortment of monitors — are fleshed out around the screen. Film purists, I wonder, may balk at seeing images beyond the director’s vision — Rinsky says he hasn’t been in touch with directors Lana or Lilly Wachowski — but I found it could help build a world, especially for revival cinema on a second or third viewing.

A scene of “The Matrix” starring Carrie-Anne Moss is surrounded with an all-surrounding view of a skyline.

(Cosm)

Expectedly, the film’s final act becomes a bevy of secondary action. Bullets that fly off the frame of the film now find a landing spot, as building walls shatter and crumble around us. Cosm’s screen is crisp and encompassing enough that it can mimic movement or flight, and thankfully this is used sparingly, twisting only when the film’s characters take to the skies.

When Cosm opened last summer Chief Executive Jeb Terry stressed the venue wasn’t in the business of showing films, wanting to focus on sports or original programming. “We’re not a first-run theater,” said Terry. “We’re leaning into the experiential side.” Seemingly, “The Matrix” fits this plan, as the accompanying CGI images have been in the works since about August 2024, says Rinsky, with the bulk of the heavy lifting beginning in January.

Rinsky acknowledges “The Matrix” fits the format particularly well because it “plays in a realm of fantasy that allows you to change environments around,” but is quick to add that Cosm and Little Cinema hope to expand the program of enhancing Hollywood products. “It is a bit of a mission and a philosophy,” he says. “Every film in every genre has its own unique propositions and can be adopted and suited well. We’re excited about horror, and we’re excited about comedy.” Future projects have not yet been announced.

Cosm also has a venue in Dallas, with spots in Atlanta and Detroit on the way. Rinsky’s hope, of course, is that Cosm someday has enough market penetration that filmmakers can create the format from the ground up.

“I’m really bullish about this being the new cinema,” Rinsky says. “I think in five to 10 years, there will be 100 of these around. Once it hits scale, then big studios will have releases created specifically for this format.”

It’s an optimistic view of the future that’s arriving at a time of disruption in Hollywood, from shake-ups due to the streaming market to artificial intelligence. For Cosm, it’s the early days, but it’s a vision that needs neither a red nor blue pill. Its outlook is much more rose-colored.

David Hockney and his mother.

(photograph by Lester Sloan)

I ask my students: What would an essay be like if it were structured like a grid? What would it be like to structure it as a lopsided, organic shape?

I am teaching a class called “On Collage.” Every time I do, we make a new center of gravity for the course together. One or two students will explain collage each week, introducing a collage or an artist, but first I offer my own version: a slideshow I have no notes for. Depending on the way I’ve prepared for class that week, I’ll compose a narrative about the slides in a way that articulates what collage might offer us.

The slideshow begins with a black-and-white photograph of a man with light hair, a cap and glasses standing behind a tall rattan chair where an older woman is seated. She smiles broadly, her chest puffed out like a robin in early spring. His face is a bit more fluid, untraceable, tucked into itself, echoed by the arm he holds across his body, drawing his striped tie askew. His glasses hold a reflection that must include the photographer, but when I zoom in, the shadow and light become a bunch of shapes, and I get distracted by an unsettling look in the man’s eyes, which have an air of surprise or warning. His ears are quotation marks. His mouth is as close as a mouth can come to a sideways question mark, punctuated by a cautious smile line. I’ve watched enough documentaries to know that this is as likely a response to the photographer as it is to the woman whose shoulder he is grasping with his other hand. David Hockney and his mother.

In the 1980s, my father, Lester Sloan, was a photojournalist for Newsweek magazine assigned to photograph Hockney for a story about artists designing posters for the 1984 Olympics. Hockney made a poster of a swimmer underwater, captured through 12 Polaroid photographs arranged in a grid. Swimming figures ripple through Hockney’s early paintings as if swimming from one frame to another. When I read from an essay that I wrote on Hockney’s swimming pools once, two scholars wondered aloud about John Cheever’s “The Swimmer,” and I am often haunted by this moment, as if I should have known better than to write about swimming pools without reading more things great men had said about them. But what I notice now, looking literally over my shoulder as if I’ll see the memory, is that the essay as a genre favors the unique thread of one person’s associations. As Hockney puts it, “We always see with memory. Seeing each person’s memory is a bit different. We can’t be looking at the same things, can we?”

Art offers or asks us to sketch a thing that has moved through us too quickly to capture it completely. It should throw a shadow of chemical memory across our faces like the smell of chlorine.

On the day he took this photograph, my father went to Hockney’s California home, tucked into the Hollywood Hills. The artist wanted to show him the Polaroid collages — what he coined “joiners” — he had begun to make. My father has recalled Hockney’s sense of wonder at this new approach to artmaking so many times over the course of my life that I can see it — the sun-lit table on which Hockney laid those pieces. Hockney has said that he was so distracted by the joiners that he couldn’t sleep at night. “I used to get up in the middle of the night and sit and look at them to find out what I was doing,” he told Paul Joyce. He bought thousands of dollars’ worth of film and roamed his own house in search of compositions. “Time was appearing in the picture. And because of it, space, a bigger illusion of space.”

Some of the photographs are arranged in a grid, though the dissonance between them — one square depicting a table from inches away, another from across the room — creates an ethereality, a wind within the frame. Some of the photographs are arranged freely, as if to follow the line of sight as it traces figures in a space — wind-scattered. Overlapping, stuttering, arcing upward.

When I first asked my father about this day, he recalled the degree to which Hockney oriented toward his mother when he came to take this portrait. The painter was orbiting her, asking her thoughts on the conversation, nodding toward her with his body.

At this point in the slide show, I show some frames from the film “Blow-Up,” wherein a London photographer snaps some pictures of a couple kissing in the park. As he develops the film later, he tries to zoom in more and more on a particular frame. He realizes that there is a man with a gun in the bushes. There is, perhaps, at the heart of every composition, the door to a great mystery you might not even have realized you were bracketing.

The Hockney joiner that most haunts me is called “My Mother, Bolton Abbey.” This is not a grid but a scatter. The same woman my father met that afternoon is seated in a cemetery, and the Polaroids of her begin to spill downward, giving the whole frame a gravitational pull. Hockney’s sister describes their mother in the documentary “David Hockney: A Bigger Picture”: “She was a very great power. She had a very great emotional power that’s a bit hard to describe. That pulled you in.”

When I recently ask my father about the portrait he shot of Hockney and his mother, he begins to reminisce about his own late mother sitting on the porch of the house where he grew up. He recalls a man who would visit: “I asked him once, ‘What’s the deal with you coming around here, hanging around my mother?’ He said, ‘You know, when I was in jail, my mother died, and they wouldn’t let me out to come and see her. So I picked somebody to be a mother to me, and it was your mother.’” The image he took of Hockney has become a hall of mirrors, an entrance into the very notion of what a mother means. What it means to lose her.

The next slide is a quotation by Roland Barthes about his own mother in “Camera Lucida”: “I dream about her, I do not dream her. And confronted with the photograph, as in the dream, it is the same effort, the same Sisyphean labor: to reascend, straining toward the essence, to climb back down without having seen it, and to begin all over again.” In the first essay I wrote about collage, I talked about how they have an air of mistake. Like spilling something. Capturing the weird way that one moment is every moment, which is also death. Or as Hockney puts it in the “The Bigger Picture,” “It’s now that’s eternal, actually.”

I am writing this while visiting Santa Monica, which exists through the collage of memory since I left years ago. The first thing I do when I get here is drive through my old neighborhood, hungry to see the way time and distance have warped the familiar contours of buildings and trees and streets that served as the entirety of my early childhood world. I enter into my old neighborhood with a fluttering in my periphery where new construction or paint camouflages lines and angles and patches of scenery until the unmistakability of my childhood street reveals itself. I look for the jade plant in front of our apartment building, whose leaves I would press with my thumbnail while waiting for my parents to come downstairs. I look for the grate that would make a cha-choonk sound as the car passed over it on the way into the garage, signaling home when I was a child asleep in the backseat. I weep my ugliest, snottiest cry at an awkward intersection, looking for the place where Blockbuster used to be, happy that the library is still there. Parsing which businesses remain. Which left turns are the way I left them, framed by the corner of a blue-gray building I can only see when I’m dreaming.

Even though many of Hockney’s joiners were taken in his own California home, they blur with our own family photographs. They are the slippage of places and people, the grief you can feel for the way someone’s face was held by a particular slant of light only moments ago. If you tear yourself away from a place too quickly, the maw of memory will ask you to re-leave it over years and years.

My students and I end the semester by reading a book where poems and essays and operas arrange themselves across the page like children on a preschool floor. Some cup, some rove, some cascade.

Aisha Sabatini Sloan is an essayist and the author of four books, including “Dreaming of Ramadi in Detroit” and “Captioning the Archives,” which she co-authored with her father, photographer Lester Sloan.